Mountain ranges  evident on old coyote’s back
Legs that buckle and mange standing on end
Scrappy snarls and chattering clack
Band weary of its brother, how moons expend

Pushed from its den; old dog’s final indignity
Young competitors keep ahead the pack
What time will take; a brutal insistency
For a dying dog cards be stacked

Skinny whippy coyote your days complete
Senility your friend and nothing you lack
One last howls to death; a verse to meet
When no moon in sight and all goes black

Calling up guttural
half moon mornings deepen
something throaty
An inarticulate song
That in between place
so nondescript

Hard plastic ashtray
with burnt smudgings
that cannot be completely cleaned
Though it has less permanence
knowing these types of moons
will come back around
and make themselves known again
Yet still, misunderstood

There is a measurement
of light and dark
and a visibility of
smudgings here
and over there
Opening vocal chords
to give it a sound
leaves just a gritty inner tone

I swear I heard the dog whisper
but it frightened me
I put my fingers in my ears
I did not want to hear him
It was as if a lover was telling me a lie
I could see mysteries of life unraveling
so I shut my eyes

Deaf and blind, I stood
movement of a melodic line
between pitches
hummed in my head
Gods of old
tumbled phrases
similar to ticking of telegrams
into my subconscious

Hades told Pain and Panic
to inform him
when Fates arrived
I threw my eyes open
unplugged my ears

The dog was licking his *****
I knew my insignificance

Lilies of the Valley line a possibility path
They're pushing and poking their way through
Each crack of pavement endues the math
Of lumpish lubberly feet, leaving too few
How I wholeheartedly wish them all well
And pray the clownish tip-toe around
For bright lil' bells by their own can't tell
Who might impose their sacrosanct ground
So step lightly dear wandering and happy neighbor
For Spring be for Lillies of the Valley, hard labor

Dusty universe
with sprinklings of light,
you're a magical pondering.

I wonder if you wonder back.

Then expanse hits me.
Fascination of winsomeness
in elements crashing,
forming new star clusters,
nebula unknown or yet to be
sowed, beckons an idea of
horror in mediocrity. How
should one stand out
amongst your immense glory?
Will effervescent bubbling spectrums
with spiraling arms of some
galaxy suddenly singe
any existence known to man?
Could any man guess your plan?

Earth shattering revelation,
I'm guessing there is no plan.
So I'll make my own,
and let all this revolving
and evolving
take care its' own.

Trembling storm door
thwacks destruction and
love of warm blankets
keeps us cuddly cozy

Pardon my saying
violation inglorious heralds
at our stoop
Now being time for our
recoiling

Observing current circumstance
shall we dress ourselves?
In church clothes
or bathrobes do we streak
to chapel of the day

My likeness in you says,  "Yes!"
We've twiddled toes enough
We shan't wait much longer
Tyrant floods come
Poised indication tells us
our love is rakish
and rallies are arising

Who knows where  this storm goes?

All I  know is,  I want you now

Slurping accolades on Book of Faces,
****** poet **** romances himself.
Lubricating through superego Groups,
disorganization and breakdown of controls
chips him into corner. Bleak
moments of "Like" successes
are momentary arousals,
while blessings of truer constructive
criticisms become real get-offs. Spooging
on his own "Like"-abilities and
word-stock inventiveness he mops up
whatever approval he can.
Internet-tionalistic
becomes his coinphrase. He'll
Google-gunk it up in translation
to any language. So long as it buys him
some sensation. Forgive him,
for where else would he get it?

Connecting night's dots of lights
I'm so often left bewildered
If I could, I surely should
Travel Milky Way unfiltered
Squishing aglow to dim although
These wantings have been pilfered
By blur of light from this night
And another man's wish differed
Star snatched crime, so sublime
Nothing and all considered

Connecting night's dots of lights
I'm so often left bewildered
If I could, I surely should
Travel Milky Way unfiltered
Squishing aglow to dim although
These wantings have been pilfered
By blur of light from this night
And another man's wish differed
Star snatched crime, so sublime
Nothing and all considered

huge places along the Baltic Sea
Lithuania never to see that six year old again
rusty condensation he licks from within his floating steel chamber
crushing sounds of storage containers and ******
“Blessed” mother tells him “Labadini” you’re going to America
small buttons from her blouse
torn from his country
his traveling companion
a mouse
just until hunger hits so hard
the taste of fur stuck in his throat
comes to mind in Disneyland
Mickey and that wretched boat

Who knew why such ruffians
Squandered and squabbled
Dear to me their brutish good looks
Pulling out pockets' linings
Showing how no cent remained
Not a **** dime to their name
Chasing absent dreams called fame
Just deterioration
From what was once
Gleaming teeth
Combed hair
Finer threads
Now cement beds
Lay them down at night
Oh what a sight
My parlayed partners
Still jiving and hustling
Crackling and busting
*** for that quick fix
Sick, I tell you
How glory appears in their eyes
It's a story of addiction's surprise
That grab on you
How it happened to him too
Gleam!
That glisten and sheen
Then sweat
Soaked in an essence we've set
Of our inner spoiling
Tormented toiling
When we shoot that boot to get
That desperate need never met

There's something I need to say
in resolved alliance with communicable insanity
Particulars are of no interest to me
Neither are excuses
What's worried me are your uses
and aloofness to them
"How is it," you say, "are the bonds between us
that give us sanctity?"
I say, "No no, mincing words with the poet
will do you more harm than
you already believe you suffered"
So, please
find yourself at ease
and suffer no longer
You are free to go

Summer, with rains swelling like a Tolstoy story
of men sent to war, of bravery and cowardice,
of man questioning putting himself in harm's way,
who, what influences your pouring?
Cloud bursts and cracking skies lit by bolts of wonder,
of uncertainty, of suspicion,
do you feel the feeling of self-preservation
or of self-implosion?
Does justice consequently actualize in your humidity,
in your ideology of warm front meets cold front confrontations?
Sizzle summer, then pour.
Make the wheat germ swell and fields flourish
for in some other part of the world,
some other farmer's crops are failing
and this is what leads to war.

As I rise, cumuli are my clouds
Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray
Waving to me in tattered shrouds
Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day
Commit to memory ether and solar play

For never could a photograph
Or great master’s paintings depict or imply
Phenomena of heaven’s autograph
Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky
What wondering adrift, now present to eyes

Sensational this morning’s vividness
Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning
Awestruck I am within this immanence
Call forth  flash of conception spawning
Clearest notion of  earthbound belonging

Taggers case freight car yards,

a complicated process

to choose splendid canvas. Steel

stealing is time lapsing. You

take a property, not yours.

You take flashing blink. It cooks

eyes of dull suburban housewives,

while they sit in wait

at railroad crossings. Its chicanery

is a contrivance tempting those

mother's sons. Offbeat drawn

out of the daily rides to school,

how they wish for spray paint,

to challenge their mothers'

judgements. Soon enough

he picks up his own can.

Feels that psssst.

Knows his new name.

Trying to expediate the process in which
another man’s pain is relinquished can  

only happen in two ways; (a) drugs or  
(b) leaving him to it. There is a third

but that involves trickery of a rather
sorted questionable ethical suspicion.  

Fishy as this all may sound for the
sake of trepidation alarming itself

within one, must only come from within.
Other academia or institutionalized

theorizing shan’t ignite the inner lamp
or give levity to situation. Trust of one self's

own recognition in this be the path.
So, take it or leave it. Your choice.

Higher animals than ourselves exist, but they cannot breathe our air and they don't come here for that very reason. They do however keep watch and when needed influence our development. Not everything happens for good reason though, and there are certain processes at hand which will ultimately lead to our extinction. With that will be extinct the idea of God or Gods and heaven and hell and all things man made, except for compassion, which is what the higher beings want and are trying to understand. Evolution has always been controlled by them. They have that set of "buttons." We do not. Really, these are not "buttons" at all but something so foreign to the human mind's conceiving, it is simply better relayed to you as "buttons," or "dials," or "switches," if you will. When the "grand machine, extreme and eventual conclusive computer, infinite circuitry board," have you, is complete which the higher ones are fabricating, the time will have come for pain and sorrow to end and with that will end the existence of earth. These things only exist here, as only the animals of this earth own nervous systems and neurological capacities. The higher ones do not. This is why they are void of compassion and seek to understand it. So I implore you for the safety of our race, the human one all inclusive, and even extended to the lower and lowliest creatures, do practice compassion. For until the higher ones are convinced of its good use, there is no hope. And hope is integral for understanding compassion and ultimately essential for us all. Including the higher ones.

She is like no other, always in her necktie.
I knew her before the necktie, before many
the body manipulations, but not all. I'd stare,
engrossingly, at elongated lobes, the wardrobe.
I, now, her technophobe, longing to digital
age do her. "It's complicated," we call it.

How I long to stand next to her at the bus stop,
like we used to do. Waiting, staring, baiting,
glaring, like we used to do, at Fillmore and Haight,
while we'd wait. Didn't care if my bus came and
left, sometimes I'd just wait for hers, to follow
her aboard. I think she liked the way I stalked her.

Me in my blah corporate attire and necktie,
her in her outlandishly wonderful. Going to work  
those days were keen broad bean, where we'd  
convene, sometimes out on the scene, or where
folks ought not be seen. And we'd just look,
for long periods. If we spoke, it was  egg white polite.

But that was then and this is now and now we
chat all naughty fun. I call her my baby, my honey-bun,
my long distance impassioned one. Virtual realities
do often please, something I like about the tease.
If ever again together, I'll be on my knees. She's
my fiancée and we plan to tie the knot.

Guess I'll be tattooing a matching necktie.

Toward lower place, holy steps I set
Process, solely to pleasure you
On traverse an atman, to gaiety get

Nor nimble nosedive quantify free
Greater love; comparable, higher
Twinkle, flash, glister this treasury

Wholehearted welfare bid proceed
Serve solicitor, man’s nourishment
Assign an office, your eyes indeed

Devotional candle, clarity in light
Love is not debt, to which subscribed
Gliding pathway bearing orbit’s flight

Still, this I am helpless to choose
Why you here feel, as if sanctity
From every lover, which I did lose

Sparse conclusions, respect to heart
Luminary moment of sudden spark
Accept this love as forgotten art

The always-patient man had no longer a capacity to accept, his fists thwacking the gates of hell. He needed in. The icy hinged barrier crushed his knuckles, and the splintering molecules of frozen corpses, which hedged this entrance, fell in fine dust. Their eyes, the only warm flesh within the dead gatekeepers, begged him to back away. It only let him know, he, this man that was once so ever patient, belonged inside. Not wishing to give up, he struck, and struck the cryptic divide screaming, “Devils take me!”  You see, at the moment of his death, the gates of heaven opened up to him, and he being the ever most patient man, his soul rushed into the great light of empyrean. Yet when there, he could not see what he had expected, there was no wondrous feeling of euphoria. Nothing was there to give him that high, he had ignored himself so long, upon that dreaded earth, before his sobriety and solvency to God. That always-patient man had expectations of those feelings, which he felt criminal, and denied himself so long. Yet they were not there, in this heaven he imagined. This soul, that for so long had been a patient man, who had so piously paid his debts, had an epiphany. He was feeling gypped. So his soul swooped to hell. Not looking back he heard the gates of heaven slam. After this the man, patient no more begged Beelzebub, from chained and locked realm, “Satan, give me what I deserve! Stick your stake in me. Give me your pleasured poison!”  Then God and Lucifer appeared to him and morphed into one being. The whirlwind of good and evil they became said, “Life is strife or happiness, you choose. There is nothing here for you.” Suddenly incarnated again, into newborn gasping first breath, his mind went blank, but with an evolved spirit inhaled.

© PJ Poesy
01.09.2014

He picked me up hitchhiking on Tylerfoote Xing
My years were twenty, headphones on and moshing
I sported cut-offs and my "Docs" on that stubborn hot day
My Mohawk was three colors, I was an obvious gay

Allen Ginsberg 1984 in front of Ma Trux
He pulled over in a dust cloud, this was my luck
"Where are you headed?" said he, "I'm on my way to SF"
"Just to town." said me, "that's far enough."

"Where are you from?" came a chortle with this query
"From New Jersey I hail, how 'bout you my deary?"
A gaff of a laugh came then and two words, "me too."
"Oh really?" came my sarcasm, "How lucky for you."

"To escape," I finished then a gaffing  stabbed further
He looked so odd, my fear was, " I hope I'm not murdered."
Obviously much older, a bit pudgy and bald
When he told me his name it meant nothing at all

Said he was from Newark, this did not impress me either
"Me? Camden," though he might guess from my wife-beater
"What's that music you've got?" said my chauffeur
"A mixed tape. The Clash, DK's and Psychedelic Furs"

"Pop it in the dash, lets have a listen my friend."
As he glared at my flesh, I thought, "this is my end"
He popped it out almost immediately and declared
"This is awful and loud, your generation makes me scared!"
  
We argued a bit about music and art
"Patti Smith is the greatest poet!" I told the old ****
"She's from Jersey too, like Walt Whitman and us."
Allen's reply, "Oh really, what's the fuss?"

"Whitman comes from Camden, I'm a poet like him"
Ginsberg said, "oh yeah, well let's hear some Slim"
So I began to recite from "Leaves Of Grass"
"Not Walt! Give me yours kid, I don't want to hear him, you ***."

So I threw at him my most recent, "Angel With A Pool Que"
He complimented me so nicely, I believed he spoke true
"Ever hear of Howl? I'm a poet too."
He recited dozens of lines and I thought "p-u"

My offer was, "It needs some work"
His exclamation was, "Do you know who I am, you ****?
I'm Allen Ginsberg, you mean you haven't heard of me?"
I exclaimed my name back, boldly emoting "don't you see?"

We laughed together it was a joyous moment in time
Then his hand moved to my knee as he blurted some rhyme
I picked it right up and placed it back on the steer
"If that's what you want Sir, I can walk from here"

He stopped his car there in the middle of the 49 highway
"I mean you no harm young man, I assumed you were gay"
I explained, "Of course I am, but we are not going there"
He was a perfect gentleman then on, with out even a swear

I inquired with my friends when I got to town
Of this charming old poet I left with a frown
They jumped and spun and called me "**** crazy"
One handed me Howl in hard cover; I felt dim as a daisy

Bleak glimmers

Oh yes I'm going there
And
just goes to duller place

I'll stop right there

It’s begun to stick out
Becoming its own entity
Does not hurt
Except when I swallow
But don’t let me wallow
In self pity
This growth of mine
Is rather kind
As in it I know
Where my life does go
And that I am sooner there
Not scared
Or even worried
A friend does wait
No pearly gate
A path of wispy grasses
My dear friend there with shovel
Having chosen that spot
Where ***** will be sunk
Scooping from dirt no reasons
We shall then politely plunk
This growth
No longer will it choke
Memories of our lost seasons

Trust me like a kitchen utensil passed down from your grandmother
I stir the same way she did
Either lightly or beaten to froth
Depends on the ingredients and what the recipe calls for

Be so fractioned
my split personality be split
Never know who's comin' out
Kinda like the laundry mat
Does mine at the Wishy Washy

Funny how things get all separated
Whites all in a pile over here
Darks and colors over there
Breaks it down even further

Gotta lotta red
so that gets its own pile
whilst medium and light colors
be divided

Blacks and blues
just lumped together
Then it just gets all mixed up again

'Cause truth is
don't gots the dough to through
down that many loads

This riles Señorita Clarita
Thinks I'm cheap
so mostly, I end up lookin' like some
techno tie-dyed fruit basket
in girly pants

Yeah, still be wearin'
my sister's hand-me-downs
Be some hard times for
The Poet Launderette

Squished between bottled memories are photo's depth
Fossils hold lastingness, enigmatic time
Explorer on coal fact-finding mission, yours and mine
Blackness of glassy lumps, tremendous breadth
At the old colliery, buried history, a coal town's death

Unbounded, far-reaching reminiscence of miner's lives
Great, great grandfathers incinerated citizenry
Existence not wasted, though no nostalgia cynically
Selling souls to company store per week for fives
Faith they measured by feeding children and wives

No way out from tombs of chiseled insignificance
Pick axes, shovels sounding klinks and klanks
Started his career at thirteen, some less in ranks
What  grandpa heard: cussing, dynamite dissonance
Sounds of ancestors buried in condition indigence

Swollen, hanging
on outside corner
of just one eye,
it dangled diamond like.
Offsetting an emerald gaze,
that tear held on
and it was impossible
to know if it
would, could, should
ever fall.

Rays of light from
late afternoon
cracked as if glass,
splintering her
reflections. Her
juicy tear was
holding the whole
story back.

I would not wish
to pull it from her,
dab it away. It was,
forever now,
part of her beauty,
facetted upon her face.

On Elephanta, we traipsed from our tottery tour boats onto venerable dust. Led single file up hardened clay trail to Hindu temples buried beyond time and grime, the temporal length of an entity's existence. Jungle encroaching, we were warned, "Do not feed the monkeys." We had no plans to, but we soon learned the monkeys had their own plans. Pronto, ******, and Scratch very quickly pinched, plundered and ransacked the box lunches we brought. Cheeky monkeys, ha! Toothy fanged gang-bangers more like it. Still, we escaped without the drawing of any blood, so we were grateful for that. Though my friend had lost her scarf in the tussle, and she kept telling me to ****** it back. "Sure," I thought, giggling with no chivalrous intention of taking on any ruffian primate.

Further on we became enthralled by the alluring architecture. Cave temples carved into basalt rock with Gods and Goddesses moved us deeply with their artistic and spiritual integrity. Natural light pouring in through vantage points illuminate sculptures at different times through the day, so the tour becomes processional. Devotion is seen as many offer prayers and flower garlands to the idols. Learning the history of Portuguese sailors using the temples as target practice is saddening and evident in the pitted carvings and reliefs.

We had been graced with a brilliant bright day to take in the sights, but this was not to last. It was monsoon season and scuttles of rain came dowsing our boat. Upon our return to the Gateway of India, we were blown off course, forcing us to land in an unfamiliar area in Mumbai where tourists were not seen regularly. We had to leap frog a dozen or more vessels all blown to port at once trying to escape the storm. There was a huge panic of tour boats and fishermen. The disgusting quagmire splashing in our faces from the harbor was mix of gas and oil spilled from boats, dead fish and likely other unnameable mammalian debris, plus general ******* of full gamut. All in all, we survived only to be encircled by knife wielding street urchins when we lost our way back to Whorli Seaface where we were staying.

"Street urchins," was the local term of endearment for the orphaned adolescent gangs known for robbing tourists. No one told us about the knives though, so we were taken a bit off guard. In any case, feeling less threatened than by the band of monkeys we just encountered on Elephanta, my chivalry kicked in. I picked one up, dangling him over the dockside. This show of brute force seemed enough to convince the others to withdrawal and I immediately freed my runty captive ****. He seemed grateful, though a language barrier was not resolved. I gave him some rupees for the newly acquired souvenir, namely the knife. He skipped off quickly with his bitty buddies. They turned and waved goodbye with bright beautiful smiles.

This story has no moral other than, when traveling without a compass, always keep a moral one.

Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”

Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”

Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:

“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”

Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”

Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
“**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”

At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles

It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble

On my way to the museum, a tall slender youth showed off to me. He daringly leapt, pummeling himself in an articulated half twist over an iron gate I was passing. This gymnastic feat was finished facing me from other side of fence. The glimmered wink he left me with had an added curl to one side his lip. That told me my own look of astonishment, to this out-of-nowhere acrobatic display, was just the reaction this young man had expected. Peculiar this is, as it brings a thought mission to mind. Exactly what I should find when I get to the museum, may never equal what happenstance just threw in front of me. So I return home, to paint a picture instead.

coagulation of life muck
make her eyes bag
pockets hold cruel visions
memories she cannot empty
she zippers
her lids tightly
as he passes
all she can do is
wish unholy away
dilation inside behind
zippered eyes
makes all that mucky crust ooze
there are wells
of slippery situations
oily wells
gushers never to hurl
zipped away
under black mascara
life complexities
thickening

She holds my attention
Having gently extracted eye from my head
Rolls my all seeing sphere
Against every inch of her
Releases any fractionated fears
Peripheral intensity
Then she
Inserts me
Shows me insides
Mysteries unrevealed to others
Chasms of want and desire
Yearn canyons
So large at this angle
Light pours in
From her eyes
Nostrils
Ear cavities
Her open mouth
Where succulent mist is swallowed
No organs exist in here
Other than
A hard thumping heart
This eye inside her
Reverberates
Learns her dance

She holds my attention
having gently extracted eye from my head
rolls my all seeing sphere
against every inch of her
releases fractionated fears

Peripheral intensity

Then she
inserts me

Shows me insides
mysteries unrevealed to others
chasms of want and desire
Yearn canyons

So large at this angle
light pours in
from her eyes
nostrils
ear cavities
Her open mouth
where succulent mist is swallowed

No organs exist in here
other than
hard thumping heart

Eye inside her
reverberates
learns how she sees

Refreshment, in form king size bed
Big fluffy pillows, sink disheveled head
Silken other body touching beside
Night's dreamless comfort, into it did glide

How exist delusion, tranquil pie in sky
Consulting limbs, spooning of thighs
Imprecise discoveries, feeling more at ease
Theories both wound in bed, confidently pleased

A-Ooga Tioga
Sky, mountain and mist rise

with morning breath
It’s crisp until coffee goes in
but no bother for that
instead, searching for sun, kept out of sight
figuring which way is east
Which way is yonder?
still, more you might ponder

As you sink into the lap of Tioga valleys
cradled by ash and oaks
fields of daisy mixed with rye and wheat
spread at your feet
like  wedding dress of Mother Nature herself

She says softly:

“Pssst, hey you
Don’t put on those shoes
tiptoe way across my seedy crinolines
lie upon me
Sink in insubstantiality with me
as I draw
rays and beams, beyond
some twenty rolling hills

In our for all future time horizon
you may still be dreaming
indulge yourself in my verdant fantasies
**** up this morning with me

This is Appalachian reverie
hear me like little turkey gobbling
dance with doe and fawn
chase jackrabbit
round and round
Why, even the silos are singing
“Pour me a cup” ”

To emulous praise of great simplicity
Whose tale, before me coming here, was told
But soon shall come summer tomatoes’ harvest
Leaf after leaf sprouting now, who play
In soft breezes of spring air warming
Modest speech and glowing courtesy
Then a flowering so distinct and delicate
Ah, yet smell of this particular chlorophyll
Lingering like incense of religious experience
Makes me wait with baited taste buds
For “Aha” to be exclaimed
By New Jersey-ites who have seeded heirlooms
In humble suburban backyards
And wait for that delicious immortal juice

Hot pepper nightmares come clean, sobering cleanse to it. Drunk  
you delete from tiresome attachments, and your Friend's List.
Wino's duplicitous failing, while crowing away her merits for giving  
up crack, glugging down another. Harm reduction is not to be  
confused with sobriety. Don't get me wrong, I am not a tea-totalitarian, but I can see when a ***** is shoveling away.

This one I will miss. Most endearing has been this lioness' steamy exhales. Roasted internet exchanges, and toasting of overall thermionic lifestyles. She was a good one, reliable and dedicated to truth-telling in that sneaking-in tall-tales fashion. Yet, I can't sweat it out any longer. Her heat scorns clouds of sizzling pollution. When one is roasting the hottest of hot peppers, it can become hard to breathe. She needed to be taken off the grill, for sake of my own sanity.

Perhaps, I'll re-visit her, after she's been bottled up and cured.

Found one another in clean white cotton fluff
Immediate halt, Greek Theos, thematic vowel
Rock star curls, twists fell your neck, shoulders
Exquisite softness, loops eros and cotton towel

Deluxe strength, and rest of you tanned
Almost bumptious, except eyes, grin too cool
Brought into your ellipses, tremulous flutters
No names exchanged before mouths grew drool

Kiss that could have lasted conquering of Rome
What had happened to us in diaphoresis baths?
Battle of endurance ensued, gripping challenge
Whence young men in small towels cross paths

How I precipitate within and around
trash to steam factory's super chimneys
Ideas *******
amongst rising glow of cantaloupe colored sky
And why am I?

Beholden to a notion
of fanciful or foolish, concept of nuptials
puffing pother  
or why bother to effuse such ******* encumbrance
Trouble sweats unease

Cold feet, that can't afford proper socks
know the sludging embankments
of Camden Crick (colloquialism of creek)
As it were, a driving force of elopement
An eschewal of plastic bottle heap

Knowing fictile landscapes
with condensations murky in skies,
chance entices
Grasping for refuge
from refuse

Starving for meaning, an agnostic
bruising grey and white matter,
choking on maybes and half-truths,

finds indifference too easily. Never
pushing further through, cloudbursts
condensate but never conceive rainfall.

Something and always something
more gives pause, upon bathroom wall.
Scribbled as an epiphany lightening bolts

eye-opener, and its leakage capitalizes.
Each tagger finding more prophetic
words to denounce anything mystical

or godly. So, what's being fertilized
beyond the tinkling drain of insistence,
slumps downgrade to ebb of sewage

reaching sea. There amidst flotsam,
aeon's class of power perceived become
one with Supreme Being, an ocean.

Something needs to thaw before dinner
can be cooked. There is a multitude of frozen
things in this house. Three refrigerators
to match same number of icy hearts. They
all warm up at different times, though a stale
frost seems to permeate.

Linoleum checkered floor of maroon and beige stretches before my feet, seemingly for miles. This pulled apart perspective, extending, plays upon my eyes in an undulation of unease. The wait is long and heavy, heaving of such misplacement churns an awkward understanding of how hell's rivers percolate blistering torture. Which line shall I be shuffled to next? If hell does exist, it must resemble Social Services, downtown Camden, New Jersey. Also, it must be designed with the same checkered linoleum floor. I feel it upon the faces of those who wait (impatiently or patiently, yet, truly tested) here with me, that exacting distaste in a maze of cubicles and hard plastic furniture. Maybe, just maybe, it is only purgatory. Only time will tell.

Gift of friends in life such blessing
Invoking divination and favor upon
Where we'd be left to guessing
Life with no friends, may as well be gone
To place of no light or dawn

Cherish each and every human
Be grateful for lessons learned
Spirit inhabiting home, a numen
No need for worry, with equal concern
Care one gives, shall be returned

We simply particles, iridescent dust
Trickling behind pushing galaxies
Place for each kindred spirit a must
Importance this, know has gravity
As people all of stardust family

So how we mold, blend, contour
Gives malleability to make room all
Truth be told, friend is loving conjure
Make magic comradely however small
Be there for each other through long haul

Allowance of difference transforms not entirety, but perhaps enough. We are cast all over the place. By chance some grow. Seeds of diversity bloom without genetic precursors. Hybrid’s forerunning amalgamations were somewhere in time not as pure. Half-bred mongrel dogs the same. Romulus and Remus suckle a wolf-***** surrogate. Even after hardships and trials together, turn on each other. Conditioning may not change what is inheriting, but has its influences. Feral children of ancient mythography become heroes of a Rome, who has since seen rise to popes. What injects change into society? Today’s biotechnology gives birth to genetically engineered seed of change. Who bows to New God, by its name Monsanto? Collectively, third-world nations in a final Round-Up. Extermination business as usual.

How is it playing in your head about now? Does it roll the inside circumference, from left ear past eyes to right, following through the back and around to your left again? Shall I whisper it once more, the sentence with which this did not start? Please don't make me repeat myself. By your blush, I know you heard me correctly. It's just how you bite your lip, that is indecipherable, whether you agree or not. Let's not leave this business between us unfinished...

It needs a title.

Stars belt in orbit
should I stand too fast,
so I sit back down,
enjoy astrophysical  
apperception's fancy flight.

Make my wishes upon
fallings off, this one,
that one, the other.
I wish it all away,
this pill, that pill,
the other. The spills,
the spells, the other tells
of declining lucky stars
intermittent with
shooting gratitude  
for love given and taken,
laughs giggled and shaken,
and discovery of
Pluto's big heart.

Hope still, is in course.

So you're the one
who paints all the frowns
on the sad clowns
Circus life does have strife
and roasted peanuts by the pound

So you're tired of nuts
and cleaning up elephant dung
Pity, you were once
a real class act

Now reduced to ticket sales
and fame unsung

Your high wire act
turned into catastrophe
Your partner slipped through
your arms into rhapsody
No gadgetry in this galaxy
could save this fantasy

Y
o
u

h
a
v
e

n
o

n
e
t

t
o

f
a
l
l

o
n

Till    y­ou                                                 'round!
                      turn                        back
  ­                              that frown

She surrenders herself to passion
Like moth drawn to flame
As if color red
Which cannot be removed from blood
Attaches herself to it solidly
So that pry bars or even acid bath
Could not remove her
From what she longs in her heart
But cannot feel with sensible mind
Anguish is her first love

I've tucked my dreams away in a time capsule. For certain, they will be better use to someone in the future. Though in all likelihood, they may never be found, for I have told no one where they have been buried and shan't offer a clue. In the capsule, far under the darkness of dirt, should one happen upon it, they will find obscure memories along with those dreams. Just tokens they are, recapturing happy times, made of clay and paint, spell ridden for a future discoverer.  These knick-knacks are sure to have power, as no intention I have ever had has been greater than what was formed in those whatnots. You've seen bric-a-brac shelved, gather dust, and finally find themselves wrapped in tissue paper, inside a shoebox stowed in an attic and forgotten. Then one day they are rediscovered by another generation, who is charmed by their quaintness. They are dusted off and put on a shelf again, until sadness bearing that memory requires them to be sold at some yard sale or donated to a thrift store. I can not see this for my whatnots. To me they are too precious to leave in the hands of those close to me now. I won't have them sobbed over. That is the reason they have been buried. And should a certain someone find them in the course of time, may they only know their dreams fulfilled, by a time capsule that stewed long enough to design newer wonder of whatnot.

Lives inside me fierce fire *****
Which for most days, I do quell
Yet, for way I feel this day
I am about to release her spell

Yell and holler, release this collar
Blazing banshee is free to roam
When she begins that vile trial
Safe is no house or home

Intrinsic flame inside her brain
Igniting ****** compunction
Singeing fever about to leave her
Detonation now her function

Causing alarm, great ****** harm
This harridan does seek justice
For when this witch is released
Corrosive is she as rust is

Mincing mind, heeding to find
Unequivocal violent answer
Obey all fearing, all leering
Her eyes burn into you cancer

Armies can’t keep her
Dance with her Devil, I dare
Her powers cut deeper
Without ever giving a care